


Like a Lump in Your Throat

by andimeantittosting (Saylee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x03 Coda, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Gen, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Selectively Mute Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8439697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting
Summary: Mary leaves, and when Dean opens his mouth to speak, there are no words.





	

Mary leaves, and it's a long moment before Dean opens his mouth to speak. For what, he doesn't know – to brush Sam off, maybe, or to shove everything down with a joke, or maybe for once in his goddamned life to be honest about his feelings. He doesn't know, but instead he opens his mouth and nothing comes out.

He's four years old again, and he's just lost his mother, except this time, his mother doesn't want him.

"Dean," Sam says, in a lost voice that's too small for his giant baby brother, and Dean can't answer him. There's a cavernous sinkhole opening in his chest, and he doesn't have any words, so he just shakes his head helplessly, and retreats to his room. This time, he doesn't take the pictures of her with him.

He realizes too late that there's no booze in his room – he'd moved it all to the kitchen before he'd given Mary a proper tour – and he doesn't feel like going to get any. There's a framed photo of him - little kid him - and his mom on his bedside table, and he can't look at it anymore, turns it face-down. He closes his eyes and lies on his bed in silence. It's a long time until morning.

\---

By the next morning, his words aren't back. He cooks a silent breakfast, and lays it in front of Sam with a clatter, acknowledging his exhausted, "Thanks, Dean," with a jerk of his head. Sam looks terrible, frowning at his eggs without really seeing them, and Dean keeps his head down while he eats, letting Sam think he's doing his usual uncommunicative thing.

As soon as they're done, he gathers up their plates, and retreats to the sink, letting the noise of the running water cover the lack of speech.

Sam comes to stand at his shoulder, picking up a tea towel to dry. "We could, uh, talk about this," he offers. Dean turns the water up higher, snatches the tea towel out of his hands, and gestures for him to get out of his kitchen.

Sam goes, with a pinch between his brows, and Dean braces himself against the sink until the soap bubbles creep up over his knuckles.

\---

His phone rings while he's out driving for groceries. He fishes it off the seat beside him, selects "dismiss with message." The first of the suggested texts says, _Sorry, can't talk right now_ , and he taps on it with a huff of bitter laughter. It's been two days now, and the words still seems to be gummed up in his throat, and what does it say about him that Sam still seems to think that this is standard operating procedure, just Dean not willing to deal with his issues?

(Okay, that's not fair, he admits, as he pulls into the thankfully relatively empty lot, Sam's hurting, too. He can't be expected to keep track of Dean's moods. He probably does genuinely want to talk, not just to force Dean to open up, and he can't even provide that right now.)

He pushes the cart through the aisles, piling it with fresh ingredients, and planning out meals in his head – Mary doesn't cook, and in the face of everything else, why does that still hurt? - when his phone buzzes in his pocket, reminding him of the missed call earlier. It was from Cas, he sees when he pulls it out to check, something tugging in his chest, and there are two texts from him. The first, in response to Dean's dismissal, simply says, _Of course. I'll talk to you when you're not busy._ The second, sent just now, says, _Crowley is extremely vexing_ , followed by an angry face.

A third text comes in, just as Dean is fighting with a self-checkout machine – he hates the things, but this way he doesn't need to snub some poor cashier. "I'm beginning to think that Agent Beyoncé is not as good an alias as you led me to believe," he reads, and the chuckle that surprises out of him is real, because at least there's Cas.

He ends up texting back and forth with Cas, leaning against Baby's side in the parking lot, until he remembers he should get the groceries home. Their conversation is inconsequential, and Dean doesn't tell him about Mary, but he still feels a little lighter when he finally says goodbye and climbs into the car.

\---

He's preparing dinner later, letting himself be lulled by the rhythmic chopping of the vegetables, when Sam corners him in the kitchen.

"Hey," he says, grabbing two beers from the fridge, nudging Dean in the shoulder with one. Carefully, Dean puts the knife down, and turns to face his brother, accepting the offered bottle. He focuses his attention on prising the cap off, prolonging the moment until Sam says his piece.

"Look," Sam starts, after a deep breath. "I know you don't like talking about this stuff, but I think we need to. It's been days since you've so much as said a word to me, and look, even if you don't want to talk about your feelings, I think this would really help me, so please?"

Dean opens his mouth, closes it. Sets his beer aside, tries again. His fists clench. He wants to say something, he realizes distantly, wants to tell Sam about the empty space in his chest, wants to assure his brother it's not his fault, wants to ask his forgiveness for driving Mary away, but there is nothing. He clenches his teeth together, slowly uncurls his fists. Takes a deep breath, opens his mouth again, doesn't speak. He shrugs helplessly, ducking his head away from the understanding dawning on Sam's face.

"Oh," Sam says, barely a murmur, then, "Okay. I, uh – no worries. Is it okay if I sit here while you cook?"

Dean rolls his eyes, points to the chopping board full of veggies he's been working on, then at Sam, stepping out of the way so Sam can take over, while he heats a pan full of olive oil, tossing in some diced chicken. They cook and eat in silence.

\---

Dean retreats to bed early, but doesn't sleep, thumbing idly through a dog-eared copy of Cat' s Cradle, when Cas texts him again.

 _I am going to call you._ There is a picture of a tiny phone that makes Dean raise his eyebrows. A second text follows. _You don't have to speak, but please pick up._ Sure enough his phone rings seconds later. He checks the screen. It's Cas. He picks up with a gusty breath.

"Hello, Dean." It's good to hear Cas's voice. He shuts his eyes. "Sam told me about Mary. Dean, I am so, so sorry." Dean lets his head sink into his pillow, let's Cas's voice wash over him, as he talks, first assurances about Mary, then onto more general topics and the trials of working with Crowley.

Finally Cas heaves a sigh, "I'm afraid it's quite late, and I've kept you on the phone a long time. I should let you sleep."

He doesn't say anything for a long moment, but doesn't hang up either. Their breathing mingles together over the line. Dean licks dry lips. "Thanks, Cas," he manages in a croaky whisper.

He can almost hear Cas's smile over the phone. "Sleep well, Dean."

\---

Two weeks later, Mary phones to say she is on her way back to the bunker. Dean greets her with a quiet, "Hey, Mom," and a home-cooked meal.Mary clasps her hands around his. "You've grown up well, you know?" Her smile is shaky, but it's a start.


End file.
